Emmy and the Rats in the Belfry by Lynne Jonell Read Free Book Online Page A

greet, and they could not be late.
    Emmy rolled over in bed and pulled the blankets up over her ears. How was she supposed to fall asleep with Muffy making all that noise? It sounded like the cat was banging pots and pans —
    Emmy sat up abruptly. The clanking sounds were not coming from Muffy, who was curled up on the floor. They were emerging from higher up, on the wall. The intercom switch was still stuck in the on position, and Emmy could hear everything that was going on in the kitchen. Were her parents making a midnight snack, or what? There was a lot of banging around, and even some squeaking —
    Emmy shot out of bed, grabbed her robe, and ran soft-footed down the stairs to the kitchen. “Ratty! What are you doing ?”
    The Rat, his fur whitened with flour, looked hot, sweaty, and blissful. He was perched on the rim of a blue mixing bowl, and he was gripping a wire whisk with both paws. “Oh, good! You can help me toast the almonds!”
    Emmy stared at the open cookbook, gritty with sugar, and an egg that had fallen on the floor and smashed. A thicket of knives lay entangled on the counter—that must have been the clatter she’d heard—and the refrigerator door had swung open.
    â€œI don’t believe this!” Emmy’s whisper was despairing.
    â€œI know!” The Rat flung out his arms and the whisk slid down into the bowl. “Here you have this great kitchen, but nobody ever makes biscotti!”
    There was a sound of footsteps in the hall, and Raston ducked behind the toaster as the kitchen door creaked open. Emmy stood perfectly still for one dreadful moment. Then she turned to face her parents.
    â€œOh, Emmy ,” said Kathy Addison, sinking down on a chair in her nightgown.
    â€œWhat on earth are you doing now?” Her father’s hair was mussed from sleep, but his voice was wide awake and furious.
    Emmy cast desperately in her mind for some sort of explanation that would satisfy her parents. “Um—making something for the party?”
    Her father lowered his chin and fixed her with unblinking eyes. “You’re making something for the party,” he repeated slowly.
    â€œAna’s party,” said Emmy. She paused—what would she say if she really had been making something for the party? “Ana doesn’t have a family, and she’s worried about where she’s going … I wanted to make her something really special. And I didn’t want to bother you,” she added in a burst of inspiration.
    Jim Addison’s gaze traveled over the mess on the counter, the egg on the floor, the wide-open refrigerator. “And what, exactly, were you making?”
    Emmy glanced nervously behind the toaster.
    â€œBiscotti!” mouthed the Rat.
    â€œBiscotti,” Emmy repeated, hoping her father wouldn’t ask her what that was.
    The grim set of her father’s mouth softened at the corners. He exchanged a glance with his wife.
    â€œDarling,” said Emmy’s mother, “if you wanted something special for Ana’s party, all you had to do was ask. Mrs. Brecksniff or Maggie would have been glad to make those Italian cookies for you.”
    â€œBetter yet, we’ll order some biscotti from the bakery,” said her father. “We’ll do it in the morning. But right now, clean up this mess!”
    â€œAnd go straight back to bed when you’re done,” said her mother, with a hug.
    The door shut behind her parents. Emmy reached up to the intercom and jiggled the switch until it clicked off.
    The Rat scampered out from behind the toaster. “We can’t order biscotti from the bakery!” he said, his eyes wide and alarmed. “It’s not the same! It won’t be as fresh!”
    â€œOh, shut up , Ratty,” said Emmy. “And wipe up that egg. There’s no way I’m doing all this alone.”
    Â 
    Emmy was groggy the next morning, and she opened her bedroom door